Timewalker's Song Fic Challenge Response
by timewalker05
Summary: I finally took the plunge. An electic mix of ten short fics based on the first ten songs to play when I hit 'Shuffle' on my iPod. Charah, non-Charah, Casey, Jeff and... Tyler Martin?


So, after resisting it for so long, I was driving into work and hit shuffle on the iPod. The first song was _Short Skirt/Long Jacket_ and I took it as a sign that I was supposed to do this fic thing. So here we are. Stories inspired by a random shuffle from my iPod. I warn you, my taste in music is rather eclectic. But hey, at least the _1812 Overture_ didn't come up. That would have been a rather long fic.

Thanks again to my editor **Poa** for looking over my work. You can tell she's rubbing off on me by the amount of 'Casey-ness' in the following.

1._Short Skirt/Long Jacket - Cake_

[Author's Note: Believe it or not, this is the first song that came up when I hit 'Shuffle'.]

Chuck sat at the Nerd Herd desk, his shirt tail hanging out and his tie loosened. September was always a slow time in retail – and for the Nerd Herd. All the bugs had been ironed out of the Christmas computers and all the home theater systems had been set up. Other than a few calls about viruses or the occasional broken cell phone, there wasn't much to do. The Green Shirts were having a Wii Tennis tournament and he didn't even want to think about what Jeff and Lester were doing in the back.

Morgan slouched over the desk. "Hey, Chuck. What's up?"

"I'm bored," Chuck said.

"Hey, I've got just the cure. _Call of Duty_ tonight. I've put together a crack team and we're taking out those Large Mart douches… Wait. You don't have plans do you?"

"It's Friday night, Morgan. What plans would I have?"

"Well, with your charm and good looks… and Ellie's constant prompting… I keep figuring that you'll have a date one of these nights."

Chuck looked at him.

"Hey, it could happen. Power of positive thinking, my friend. Besides, it's been, what, four years since Jill dumped you?"

"Four years, three months and, oh, eleven days," Chuck spit out, without even stopping to think.

"So, time to get back in the saddle, cowboy. We just need to find you the right woman. So, tell Uncle Morgan what you want and we'll see what we can come up with… Oh, and anything remotely resembling Jill is off limits."

Chuck sighed and thought about it. Whenever he fantasized, it was always that Jill came back and told him how wrong she was and that she realized she couldn't live without him. But if not Jill, who? What kind of girl would he be looking for? "Somebody smart," he said finally. Morgan started to say something but Chuck held up a hand. "Uh, uh, uh. Yes, I know that's a Jill trait, but I can't see myself with some bimbo. Although a blonde would be nice. Somebody athletic, so maybe she could encourage me to get in better shape."

He scratched his cheek and thought a little more. "Somebody exciting… and a little mysterious. A girl with secrets."

"Go on, go on," Morgan said.

"Somebody who laughs at my jokes. Oh, and somebody who Ellie would like. I can't see my having to choose between Ellie and… whoever she is."

The phone rang. Chuck picked it up. "Nerd Herd, Chuck speaking. Yes, I can hold on a minute."

"Stop the presses. Who is that?" Morgan said. "Vicki Vale!"

***

2._Everything I Do - Bryan Adams_

Sarah climbed into bed, took out her hair band, and laid it on the nightstand. Chuck turned off the television and then glanced over at her. "Why are you doing this?" he asked.

"Because the floor is gross and I'm not going to make you sleep on it," she replied with a smile.

Chuck, however, was not to be deterred by her flippant response. "No. I mean, why are you here, risking everything you worked so hard for?"

There it was. The Question. The one she had been avoiding ever since she hugged him in the Buy More and told him they had to run. The truth? The truth was that she couldn't imagine living without him. Ever since that first day, when he had helped the father who had messed up recording his daughter's recital, she had know that he was different than anyone she had every known before. He was special. He had gotten under her skin. The goofy nerd with the pocket protector. Two years ago, she never would have looked twice at such a man, and now he was sitting next to her on a bed in a hotel room on the run from the government.

Why was she here? Because of him. Because ever since that first date, she had known. This wasn't just another assignment. She wasn't protecting him because he was her asset or because he was the Intersect. She did it _for him_. Because he deserved to be safe. He deserved to have a real life – with his sister and his friends. And his father. He couldn't be locked up in some bunker. It would kill him. Maybe not physically, but it would kill his spirit.

Why was she here? Because she would do anything for him. She would kill for him – she had already proven that. She would die for him – she was fully prepared to die to keep him safe. She would give up everything – her career, the woman she had become, all she had ever known, for him. For Chuck. Because… because she loved him. Everything she did, she did for him. For Chuck. For the man she loved.

But…

A part of her was still Agent Walker - still reluctant to show her feelings. To admit what she really felt. So instead of those three little words that he was no doubt dying to hear, she said, "Because, after everything that you've done for this country, you deserve to find your father, to get the Intersect out of your head and to have a chance at a normal life."

"Thank you," he said.

"You don't have to thank me. It's my job to protect you."

"What about when it's not your job? What happens to us then?"

"One mission at a time, Chuck." She turned out the light. And the hardest thing she ever had to do was to turn her back to him and pretend to go to sleep.

***

3._The Entertainer - Billy Joel_

His skin still itched from where he had had the tattoos removed. Who would have thought that having them taken off was more painful than getting them in the first place? Of course, he had generally been either drunk or high when he was getting them, so the memory of the pain was a little fuzzy, at best.

He looked out of the window of the tour bus. Which city was it tonight? Fresno? Sacramento? He couldn't remember. It didn't matter, really. They were all the same. Hotel, arena for a sound check, back to the hotel, concert, and maybe a club and some sweet young thing. Yeah. Living the dream.

He thought of Chuck Bartowski. What a guy, that Chuck. Really knew how to party. But knew how to put others – put something bigger – ahead of himself. What had it been – two weeks? Three? Since he had left Burbank and Chuck behind. And that sweet blonde that he had with him. Sarah. Too bad he'd never bagged that bird. But no, she was Chuck's. That much was clear. And you didn't poach on your wingman's girl. Well, you did, but not if your wingman was Chuck. That just wouldn't be right. Not when Chuck had saved his life.

He sighed. Ever since spending time with Chuck, he'd been feeling uncomfortable going back to his old lifestyle. Oh, he was still drinking and chasing the skirts and sleeping until two in the afternoon, but he was actually saying 'please' and 'thank you' every now and again. Trying to think at least a little bit about someone other than himself. Baby steps, but it was progress. He was proud of himself for that. Well, that and the two million dollars he had told his new manager to deposit in the Tyler Martin CIB Foundation for helping the underprivileged. He supposed that was something.

The door to the restroom in the back of the tour bus opened and the sweet little bird wearing only a Tyler Martin shirt came out and he smiled. Maybe someday he would

start applying the rest of the lessons that Chuck had taught him.

But not today.

***

4._Skinny Love - Bon Iver_

[Author's Note: This is an Alternate Universe fic, in case you couldn't figure that out.]

How could she have been so stupid? What was it her father used to say? 'To a man with only a hammer, everything looks like a nail.' Well, she had used her hammer. How could she have been so stupid?

Chuck Bartowski was lying naked in her bed. He had been surprisingly gentle. Maybe that should have tipped her off. Maybe that should have been the warning that he wasn't like her other marks. Someone who she could wrap around her finger and he would stay wrapped.

Sarah Walker had been trained that sex was a tool, a weapon, a means to an end. Sex was a way to get what you wanted: information, access, loyalty, whatever it was you needed. And Sarah was the best. No one could resist Sarah Walker, the CIA's master seductress. Langley's Mata Hari. Sex was the easiest, the quickest way to control a mark, to get him to dance to her tune.

But Chuck Bartowski was different. It had hit her last night like a bullet to the temple. And then it had taken every ounce of her strength, every bit of her training, not to go screaming off into the night. It was the one thing that the instructors at Langley hadn't prepared her for. The silver bullet for the likes of Sarah Walker.

Chuck Bartowski was not like all the others. He didn't want to use her. He wasn't in it for the sex. Well, okay, he wanted sex. But it wouldn't be enough. Chuck Bartowski was looking for the one thing that she couldn't provide. The one thing her CIA training had left her woefully unprepared for. Indeed, if anything, the one thing that her CIA training had programmed out of her.

Chuck Bartowski, the adorable, klutzy, earnest nerd wanted love. Not sex. Love.

He would never be satisfied with less.

And that meant she was in serious trouble.

It was her job to control him. To be his handler. To protect him, yes; but also to make sure that he did her bidding. Or rather, the bidding of her masters, Graham and Beckman. And with any other man she had ever dealt with, her hammer would have worked.

The problem was, Chuck Bartowski was a rare, rare find. Chuck Bartowski was not a nail.

Maybe she should go ahead and request reassignment now, before he figured it out. Figured out who she was... _what_ she was... and grew to loathe her, to be disgusted by her... by what she had done... what she represented.

She looked at him, asleep, with a contented smile on his face and her heart ached. The tears started to flow and she ran to the bathroom before he could wake up and find her crying.

***

5._Nobody Gets Off In This Town - Garth Brooks_

Casey dropped his bag on the motel bed and frowned at the cloud of dust that billowed up from the bedspread. He knew that he was in the dog house after killing that CIA skirt over in Ankara, but it wasn't like she hadn't had it coming. And now here he was, on exile to some half-horse town in far west Texas.

Sure, Beckman had said that it was an actual mission. Something about some guy code-named Orion who had supposedly been spotted here. Of course, since no one knew what this 'Orion' looked like, he wasn't sure how we was supposed to find him.

He sat down on the bed, ignoring the new cloud of dust that generated, and pulled off his cowboy boots. He hated the damn things. The narrow toes and high arches were damned uncomfortable. But he was posing as a consulting geologist for Pride Petroleum so the boots and the ten gallon hat were mandatory attire. At least the NSA had given him a well-worn pair of boots so he hadn't had to worry about breaking them in.

He rubbed his sore feet and looked over at the clock. Seven fifteen. Might as well head over to the Dairy Queen for dinner. He snorted. Figures he'd be stuck in a town where the Dairy Queen passed for fine dining. But since it was the only restaurant in town…

He stepped over to the small, dingy alcove that passed for a bathroom and splashed some water on his face to wash off some of the dust. Not that it would do any good. There'd be more as soon as he stepped outside. West Texas was the only place outside of the Middle East where they used road graders to clean the sand dunes off of the roads.

He pulled the boots back on and picked his hat up off the bed. He stepped out of the door and looked left, then right. Not a soul in sight. He turned and walked the half-block to the Dairy Queen.

There was a pretty young girl behind the counter. She smiled at him. "Hiya, hon. Take your order?"

Casey gave her a wide smile. "Howdy. Think I'll have the Hunger Buster special and some coffee."

"That'll be five thirty-seven," she said.

Casey handed her a ten. "Keep the change, darlin'," he said with a smile.

The girl blushed and nodded thanks. "I'll bring it out to you when it's ready."

Casey dropped his hat on the table in a booth at the back of the restaurant, and positioned himself so that he faced both doors and also had a view of the door into the restrooms. He hadn't lived this long by being sloppy, no matter where he was. There were two old farmers in overalls and John Deere caps sitting at another table sipping coffee and they nodded to him. He nodded back.

The pretty young thing from behind the counter brought over his meal and coffee and gave him a warm smile. 'No doubt thinking that she could do worse than a rich oilman to get her out of this berg,' he thought. "Thanks, darlin'," he said in his best Texas accent.

"My pleasure, hon," she said. "You make sure you let me know if you need... _anything _else." The word 'anything' came out breathy and full of promises.

"I will, darlin'. I will."

She smiled again and put a little wiggle in her walk as she headed back to the counter.

His cell phone rang. "Casey," he said quietly.

"Abort. Repeat, abort. Report Washington soonest."

Casey looked up at the counter and gave a little grunt. Only one good thing in this town and he was going to miss out. Then he shrugged. No, he could always pack up the cheeseburger to go.

***

_I Dreamed a Dream - Les Miserables Cast Album_

"Sarah Walker," she said into the cell phone.

"Sarah, it's Graham. It's Bryce. He's dead."

"What?" Sarah gasped. "What happened? Where? How?"

Bryce dead? How could that be? Bryce was the agency's wonder boy - suave, sophisticated, deadly. How could he be dead? She had seen him just last week after that assignment in Buenos Aires.

"He went rogue, Sarah. He broke into a secure NSA facility and stole some information. Some very valuable, very sensitive information. The NSA put him down."

"Not Bryce," Sarah said. "Bryce wouldn't go rogue. There's been some mistake."

"There's no mistake, Sarah. He was killed just as he sent the information to a third party."

"Who?" Sarah asked.

"A location in Los Angeles. An email address belonging to a Charles Bartowski."

"Then I'm going to L.A.," Sarah said.

"No, Sarah, the NSA is going to..."

"I'm _going_ to _L.A_.," she said again, more forcefully.

"All right," Graham said. "You have 48 hours. Then I need you back here. Things are going to get nasty."

Sarah didn't bother to reply. She simply hung up.

Then the tears started. Bryce dead? Bryce _rogue_? How could he be dead? How could he... How could he betray her like this?

She angrily brushed away the tears. Bryce was gone. Just like her mother. Just like her father. She should have known. She shouldn't have trusted him. She shouldn't have gotten so close to her partner. He had betrayed her, just like everyone else.

Never again. She would never trust again. It was a luxury she couldn't afford.

She hurriedly packed a bag. God help this 'Charles Bartowski.' He would never know what hit him.

***

6._Allegretto - Bond_

[Author's Note: For those who don't know, Bond is a female string quartet and this song is used in ads for a leading jewelry store.]

Casey looked around nervously. This wasn't exactly the part of Moscow he was used to. He was much more comfortable in the seedy bars frequented by the military types than he was in the underground Okhotny Ryad shopping center. But a mission was a mission. And this was the most important mission he had ever undertaken. He checked the wad of bills he would be using for this mission. It was a lot of cash, but cash was untraceable and readily accepted. Besides, he got a much better exchange rate for cash than he did if he used a credit card. He stopped across from the shop and leaned casually against the wall. He watched the shop for perhaps fifteen minutes. When it finally emptied of patrons, he walked casually toward the doorway.

A fat Russian oligarch in a Saville Row suit brushed past him and Casey had to restrain himself from decking the man. Old habits... He stopped in the entrance to the shop and stopped. Alexi looked up and grinned. "Ah, Mr. Casey," he said in heavily accented English. "How is the energy consultant? I thought you were leaving for Grozny?"

"My plane is this afternoon," Casey replied, in Russian. He was careful to use an American accent and to stumble over the word 'afternoon'. No sense giving away that his Russian was probably better than Alexi's, and with a proper Moscow accent, at that. "Do you still have it?" he asked.

Alexi smiled. "Of course. I knew you would be back. I put it away special for you."

Casey stepped up to the counter. Alexi reached beneath and pulled out a small box. "You know, I could get in trouble for selling this to you. There are... others... who are also interested."

"Well, then I'm lucky that I'm here with cash," Casey said, pulling out the wad of bills. He thought Alexi was going to start salivating when he saw that Casey's wad was composed of American dollars, not Russian rubles. Casey counted out the proper amount and dropped it on the counter.

Alexi handed him the box and snatched up the cash quicker than a magician performing sleight-of-hand. Casey opened the box and examined the merchandise. "This is the real deal, right Alexi?" Casey asked. "None of your Russian double dealing?"

Alexi looked offended. "Have it examined by your experts. You are the one getting a bargain."

Casey snapped the box shut and slipped it in his pocket. "I have no doubt that you have made out very well," Casey said. "But thank you."

"Any time," Alexi said.

The box waited in Casey's pocket for the proper time to make the exchange. It never came. Two days later, Ilsa was killed by the terrorist bomb in Grozny. The next day, Casey walked to the river and pulled out the ring. With tears in his eyes, he crushed the ring tightly in his fist and then threw it as hard as he could into the swirling waters. It made barely a ripple as it sank to the depths.

***

7._Captain Jack - Billy Joel_

Jeff Barnes sat on the stool at the Bennigans and looked at the quarter in his hand. A quarter. Twenty-five cents. Or, if he deposited it into Missile Command, almost an hour's gameplay for the best Missile Commander in the world. But that was last year. His fans had moved on. The Slim Jims were gone. And Missile Command had been replaced by new and 'better' video games. But not for Jeff. Nothing could compare to the sheer poetry of his fingers flashing over the keys, sending the little pixels of light to intercept the incoming death. It was like music. The music of the Universe.

But that was last year. Now he sat on the stool at Bennigans in his green Buy More shirt and stared at his beer. When he had first started coming to Bennigans, he ordered rum and coke, because it seemed 'sophisticated.' But beer was cheaper and it was taking more and more alcohol to get him high these days... and his Buy More salary only went so far.

He took another gulp of beer and looked around the bar. No one remembered. No one cared. One day a star... the next they didn't know your name. But he had proof. The video cassette in his locker of that magical day when he had won it all. When they acknowledged him as 'the best.'

Someday. Someday. The Buy More was just temporary. He hadn't really intended to stay there the whole year. There was so much more he was going to do. So many things of which he was capable. But there never seemed to be enough time. Or something got in the way - like his mother getting pinched for that heist at the Husky Lad Big and Tall just before Thanksgiving.

Now he had to support his sister, the 'talented one' in the family, all because she could _dance_. Well, he had talent, too. And not just Missile Command. Someday. Someday his music would be his ticket out. All he needed was a partner. He had the sound, he just needed the words. A singer. A golden-throated ticket out of the Buy More. Someday. Someday the world would know the name Jeff Barnes again.

But until then, he'd have another beer.

***

8._Breathe - Faith Hill_

Sarah took a deep breath and let it slowly out. She didn't want to open her eyes. Not yet. Maybe not ever. She just wanted to revel in this moment. In the feel of his breath warm on the back of her neck.

Their bodies were intertwined with the tangled sheets. His hand rested lightly on her bare stomach and it was warm... oh so warm. She let out a contented sigh and snuggled into him a little more.

In a few minutes, all hell would break loose. Ellie would be up, rushing around, last minute preparations. And Honey Woodcomb. A small smile played across her lips as she imagined the resulting explosion if Honey Woodcomb ever came up against General Diane Beckman. The irresistible force and the immovable object. Honey Woodcomb had choreographed last night's wedding rehearsal as if it was the opening night of the Bolshoi Ballet.

And the rehearsal dinner... Sarah had despaired that it would ever end. All through dinner Chuck had taken every opportunity to touch her, to smile at her, to simply hold her hand or stroke her arm until she thought she was going to explode.

Well, the explosion had come later. Two years of passion bottled up and ready for release. She hoped the zipper on her dress wasn't _too_ badly torn. It was such a lovely dress. And she'd have to sew the buttons back on Chuck's shirt... Wouldn't that surprise him, that she could sew as well as cook. Well, he should have realized that all those years of taking care of her father would teach her something.

Chuck's hand began to sketch small circles on her stomach. So he was awake. It was remarkable that he had any energy left. The first time had been all passion and release. But the second time, they had taken their time. Slow, languid, luxuriating in simply touching one another; in the long, slow kisses and the little sighs of contentment.

She felt his breath on her neck pause for a moment, and then felt the warmth of his lips pressing against the back of her neck. She groaned a soft sigh and reached behind her to take his hand, their fingers intertwining like their bodies. His kissed trailed around her neck to that sensitive spot just below and behind her right ear, the one he had found last night. She moaned as his lips massaged her tender flesh and she slowly rolled over so she could look at him.

He was smiling when she opened her eyes. "Good morning, Chuck."

"Good morning, Sarah."

She kissed him lightly and he brushed the hair back from her face.

"I could get used to this," he said.

She smiled and started to reply when there was a furious banging at the door. "Chuck! Chuck!" Ellie's shrill voice sounded through the door. "Come on. We have a million things to do!"

Chuck signed and grinned at Sarah. "Duty calls," he said. He kissed her lightly again, gave her hand a squeeze, and got out of bed. He didn't see her frown as she thought about her 'duty.'

***

9._My Baby Loves Me - Martina McBride_

She stood, watching him from across the store. He was trying to sell a digital camera to the smug teenager who obviously knew more about the camera and its features than he did and now was starting to ask questions just to make him look foolish. He had, of course, slept through the product demonstration training, but she supposed that was partly her fault. She had kept him up the night before with color swatches, furniture catalogues and... other things.

Finally, she could take no more. She sauntered over to the camera section and smiled a knowing smile as the teen's eyes roamed over her body. Men were so easy. She slipped an arm around Morgan's neck and kissed him passionately, while the teen's eyes went wide. "Don't forget I brought us lunch, sweetie," she said in a breathy voice that was calculated to leave the teen weak in the knees.

"Thank you, my Anna Banana," Morgan said. "But I'm with a customer."

"Sorry," she said. "It's just so hard to stay away from you." She trailed a finger down his jawline, through his beard.

Morgan nodded and then turned back to the teen. "So let me explain the autofocus," he said.

***

Ellie and Awesome were out for the evening, so Chuck and Sarah had the apartment to themselves. Chuck was lying lengthwise on the couch and Sarah was lying next to him, her head resting on his chest. The movie was just ending.

"You realize that was completely unrealistic," she said. "First of all, no one could crack the security code that fast. And just how many bullets were in his gun, anyway? He never had to reload!"

Chuck smiled. "It's called 'the willful suspension of disbelief'," he said. "You're not supposed to overanalyze it. You're just supposed to enjoy the action and the romance."

"Well the romance was completely unrealistic, too."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"A sweet, innocent girl like that, and she falls for a cold-blooded killer. Come on. They were so completely different and once she learned what all he had..." She suddenly stopped and her hand flew to her mouth.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked.

Sarah sat up and licked her lips nervously. "You know, Chuck, I've had to do certain things. Things I'm not necessarily proud of. It's part of being a spy. Sometimes you..."

Chuck laid a finger to her lips to silence her and followed it with a soft kiss on her lips. "Sarah, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter who you were or what you've done. What matters to me is who you _are_. The girl that I love."

"But Chuck," she said. "You need to know..."

Chuck shook his head. "I know all I need to know, Sarah. If you want to tell me the rest, someday, well... That's all in the past. I love you, Sarah Walker. And nothing you say, nothing you've ever done, will ever change that."

***

Casey smiled at her. She was just sitting there, waiting for him, as he knew that she would be. He knew that she got jealous when he was with the others. But that was work. When the job was over, he was all hers.

The others might have been younger, but they couldn't approach her beauty. Hers was a classic, timeless beauty that the others - younger, flashier - couldn't match.

He pampered her shamessly, of course. Little gifts. A little extra attention. And oh, when he would rub her body...

Yes, there were newer cars. But none could compare to his true love - his Crown Victoria.

***

10._Battle Hymn of the Republic - SHeDAISY_

It was hot, of course. Washington in the summer was always sweltering. That's what they got for building a city on a swamp. But despite the heat, he was in full dress uniform. It was a pity, really, that he so rarely got to wear it.

The brand new eagles gleamed on his shoulder boards. It felt a little odd to be in the dress blues, since it had been 'dress greens' the last time he wore the uniform. One of the hazards of detached service.

The soldier at the gate snapped to attention as he passed. He returned the salute and silently berated himself for how sloppy it was. He was out of practice. He'd have to remember to work on that. But not today.

A group of tourists wandered past, going out the gate. They walked silently, solemnly. This place had that effect on people. Even the children were subdued.

His highly polished shoes made a little 'clip, clip. clip,' as he walked the familiar path. His back was ramrod straight and his pace a perfect, measured stride. His drill instructor would have been proud. At least that was one skill he hadn't forgotten.

Another group of tourists were coming toward him on the path. He started to slow, but they respectfully stepped to the side. One young boy, he couldn't have been more than five, stood up straight and lifted a hand to his brow as he passed. He stopped, came to attention, and returned the salute. The man standing next to the boy, the father no doubt, smiled and nodded. The colonel gave a quick nod in return. "That's a good boy you've got there," he said. "You're training him right."

"Thank you, Colonel. Bill Peters. Hundred and first, 'Screaming Eagles.'" He held out a hand and the colonel was glad to grasp it. "John Casey," he said. He didn't have to mention his own unit. The Ranger patch on his sleeve and the jump wings on his chest told his story for him.

He executed a precision turn and continued on his way. He was sweating a little when he reached the marker. 'David Epstein, SGT, Afghanistan', it said. With the dates of birth and death. Dates much, much too close together.

He stood for a moment, looking at the marker, his mind half a world and many years away. Memories of a young sergeant who had saved the ass of a young lieutenant too stupid to realize just how much trouble he was in.

Casey heard something behind him and turned. A young couple walked toward him, hand in hand. He started to frown. This was a private moment. What right did they have...

The man spoke. "I hope you don't mind, Casey. General Beckman told us where you were going and, well, we just wanted to say 'thank you'."

"Thank you?" Casey asked, confused.

Chuck Bartowski nodded to the headstone. "Thank you to the man who saved the life of the man who has saved our lives more times than I can count."

Casey swallowed the lump in his throat, hoping Bartowski didn't notice. "It's fine," he said.

Sarah stepped forward and laid a single poppy on top of the marker. "We'll see you back at the hotel," she said to Casey.

They turned to go. Casey gave one last, long look at the grave and gave Sergeant Epstein a nod. "They're good people," he said. "Pains in the asses, but then so was I, wasn't I?"

He turned and called to Chuck and Sarah, "Wait up! I'll walk out with you."


End file.
